


To Love A Devil

by Gremory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celtic, Death, F/M, Fairie, Fairy, Fay - Freeform, Folklore, M/M, Scottish, Scottish Folklore, Seelie, Seelie Court, Undead, Unseelie, Unseelie Court, celtic folklore, celtic mythology - Freeform, faerie - Freeform, fey, scottish celtic, scottish mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremory/pseuds/Gremory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life was never easy for Lucy Seton but when she finds herself stranded in a strange Highland village after a tragic car accident, she is about to discover that there is more to our world than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

“Lucy,” the silence was broken by her dad’s hoarse voice, “you ever heard of the Altnacorrie demon?” The teenager’s tired hazel eyes didn’t shift from her phone screen as she replied,“No, obviously not.”

A fake laugh rippled through the car as her dad’s attempt to make small talk fizzled out. An awkward silence descended again, hanging low over the family like a suffocating cloud. After a few moments of quiet, her dad spoke again. "It’s rumoured that if you see her along these roads, you’ll die soon after.”

“Lovely.”

“An Sionnach Beag, they call her. The little fox. If your eyes are unfortunate enough to glimpse her when she works her dark magic, you’re a goner. Your soul is forfeit and you’ve been marked for death.”

Lucy couldn’t help but notice the way he’d switched from boring old dad to B-movie narrator, the ashen faced vampire with the Romanian accent taking over him. Her eyes did a full three-sixty roll before she shook her head and went back to Facebook.

“That’s kinda creepy, dad. Shut up!” Vicky’s loud voice appeared from Lucy’s side. Annoying. Lucy had been certain Vicky had been asleep, or maybe she’d just fallen into a bored stupor too?

Victoria was already a good head or so taller than her older sister. She shared her mousy brown hair and hazel eyes and was the prettier of the two Seton sisters, according to Lucy. It was just a damn shame she was so loud. Constantly.

“Lovely,” Lucy repeated, making no attempt to mask her disinterest.

“Well I just thought it’d maybe make the journey to Altnacorrie a little more interesting,” her dad explained, “so keep your eyes peeled, girls!”

Vicky’s shrill laughter erupted throughout the vehicle. “I’m not sure I want to,” she giggled.

“Oh no, look!” Lucy exclaimed, “I’m looking out the window! What could possibly go wrong?” Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to her phone, mentally switching off and letting her dad and Vicky exchange their excited ideas about the supposed demon before they both ran out of steam and the car became blissfully quiet again.

It was the girls’ first time visiting the tiny coastal village nestled up in the Scottish Highlands. They were going to visit their gran, Rosalie, for the old dear’s eightieth birthday. They’d never met her before but Lucy knew why they were going. It wasn’t so much for Rosalie’s birthday as it was to comfort her dad; a year after a painful divorce and suddenly he was interested in going to see his mum again after thirty odd years? The more she thought about it, and the longer the awkward silence lingered in the small car, the more she more began to feel guilty about brushing her old man off.

“I guess it is kinda spooky,” she murmured.

“Lucy, I thought you were far too _cool_ for this kinda stuff, eh?” Vicky’s voice appeared from the left and Lucy’s eyes drifted to her sister – she looked tired from the five hour journey, dark circles forming underneath her smudged mascara where she’d tried to rub the fatigue away. Suddenly her dad’s rough voice stole her attention – he cleared his throat but it didn’t make much difference. He clearly needed a drink.

“It’s a legend I grew up with round these parts,” he told the girls. “I never did see An Sionnach Beag but me and the lads used to prowl these backroads during the summer to try and sneak a glimpse. Don't know what we’ve have done if we ever did run straight into her. Who knows?”

“It’ll just be another urban legend, dad.” Lucy replied.

“All legends have a grain of truth somewhere in there.”

“ _Somewhere._ ” Lucy watched the rear view mirror intently as her dad’s eyes focused on the road ahead.

“The thing is though, Luce,” he cleared his throat again as the car took another long smooth bend on the road, “you hear that story in tons of countries, don’t you? The demon on the backroads thing? You’re driving along, some ghosty walks out, BOOM!” A sudden force propelled the girls forward as her dad began to laugh – he’d let his foot graze the brakes to scare them. “The car crashes, everyone’s dead but that _one_ survivor, oh and there’s _always_ one! Always the person who sees the demon. But when they get out the car to find the spooky spook, there’s nothing there.” He began to laugh heartily as he glanced up and caught Lucy’s gaunt expression in the mirror, noticing how pale his daughter had turned.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed but her contempt was broken as a defeated grin spread across her face. No point in getting upset over her dad’s antics.

“Hmm…” Vicky raised a purple polished finger to her chin as she tilted her head, her eyes falling to the floor, “if I was a demon, why would I want to waste my afterlife wandering along a lonely road? That’d be so boring. I’d be floating around the graveyards scaring the bejesus out of those wannabe ghost hunter types.”

Lucy frowned as she returned her attention to her sister. Vicky was being deadly serious…

“We should be there soon,” dad said, “arriving at a haunted village in the dead of night.” There was that B-movie Dracula coming out again.

A yawn escaped Lucy lips, apparently signifying the end of the conversation as the car became silent again. Ah, at least it’d be over soon, she thought. They’d been on the road for hours – two hundred odd miles, she reckoned, across cityscapes and towns to barren moors and tree-lined country roads. Some parts of the journey could probably have been interesting but the more lonely parts became too dark to see anything.

Curiously, she cast an almost fearful glance out of the vehicle, squinting into the blackness that shrouded them, suffocating them in its cold clutches. Nothing. _Of course there’s nothing_ , she mentally scolded herself. She glanced at Vicky again and saw the younger girl flicking through her social networking sites. Funny that; the one who’d been so sceptical about the demon was the one whose eyes were flicking to and fro from the darkness…

After another few attempts at sneaking a glimpse of something creepy in the ebony night, Lucy gave up and went back to her mobile phone. It was 3:29am. _We’ll be there soon_ , she thought, _but just how soon? Forty winks won’t hurt to make the journey go quicker._ She let the back of her dad’s seat fade in and out for a few minutes as she closed her eyes, only to reopen them as the car went over a bump or someone coughed to break the silence.

Everything went black very suddenly but it wasn’t sleep that struck her.  


	2. 2

Blinding white light whooshed into Lucy’s eyes painfully as they struggled to open. Crisp, clean air filled her lungs with every heavy breath. Where on earth was she? Somewhere in the distance, a rhythmic ticking become louder and louder until she realised a clock was somewhere nearby. She blinked a few times as the angelic light flooded over her and some shapes became apparent. Three circles floated overhead. She squinted, blinking furiously and they came into focus: lights. In confusion, she realised she was in a clinic of sorts. White walls covered in various health posters and papered in pamphlets surrounded her. She tried to shake her head but found she could barely move – something uncomfortable was around her throat, forcing her head to tilt back into the pillow. A cold shudder ran through her body as she realised it was a neck brace of sorts.

What had happened? Where was the car? Where were the bleak, black roads? Where was dad? Vicky?

Jerking forward, she tried to get up quickly, glimpsing a little man huddled over some papers at a desk, but a sharp, gut wrenching pain shot out from her left side, spreading over her body and taking the breath from her audibly. She cried out in defeat and fell back down onto the bed, crumpling like a paper doll onto the white cotton sheets. The noise caused the little man alarm as she heard him jump to his feet and dash over to her.

“Lucy!” he exclaimed, “You’re awake! How do you feel? You need to take it easy!” His rapid way of speaking caused his long grey moustache to dance around his face almost comically. Squinting at Lucy through small gold rimmed spectacles, he placed a hand on Lucy’s side, where the pain had came from. “Two broken ribs is no joking matter, no siree, it is not! You need to relax.” His voice sounded as old and fatigued as he looked.

“No, no I can’t,” she flustered, “I need to get up.”

“No.” The old man’s voice became stern. Lucy stared up at him in confusion, taking in his appearance – balding grey hair, tired eyes, that free-spirited moustache and a name badge that hung loosely from his white coat – Dr Davidson. Her mind was a rushing waterfall of no coherent thought. The only thing that kept flushing into her mind was the one important question.

“What happened?” Lucy stammered trying to speak as she slowly regained her breath. The old man’s gaze dimmed, grip softening on her.

“You were in an accident on the backroads,” he exclaimed, his voice melancholic, “You were very lucky to survive, my dear girl.”

Accident?

It took a few seconds but suddenly her last conscious moments in the car came flooding back to her. She remembered the jokes, the fatigue, the scares...but that was it.

Almost as if Davidson wasn’t there, she let her gaze drift to the ceiling of the small clean room. An accident? The exact thing they’d been joking about when dad had touched the brakes. But why couldn’t she remember it? The thought kept spinning in her head until she mumbled it out loud.

“Retrograde amnesia,” Davidson explained, “most likely the result of the crash impact.”

Lucy let her eyes wander to the posters on the walls – unplanned parenthood, giving blood, diabetes, etc – she stared at them but the information just glided over her.

Davidson headed back over to his little desk and sat down to his papers again.

“It’s been over a week since you arrived at my clinic. It’s good to see that you’re recovering.”

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment. A week?

“Where’s dad? And Vicky? And where are we? We were supposed to be meeting my gran and she’ll be worried about us and-“ Before she could continue, Davidson interrupted her.

“Rosy has been informed. She’ll collect you when you’re made some more progress. And as for your family,” he paused for a moment, and she could hear the gentle tap tap of a pen on the desk, “Rosy agreed to take care of it.” A hollow laugh erupted in the room. “Welcome to Altnacorrie.”

Confusion seeped into her bones again as she became more aware of her body. Raising her head as much as she could, she noticed a heavy white cast on her arm, lying above the bed sheets. She wanted to move the arm but another searing pain warned her not to even try.

“My arm and my ribs are broken?” she asked.

“No,” the old doctor told her, “you have fractures.”

“And this neck thing?”

“To stabilise your neck and spine. X rays showed you have a cervical fracture so unfortunately, the collar needs to stay on for a while until it heals. Nothing major. Your arm will take a few weeks. Same for the ribs. You’ll be here in the clinic where I can monitor your recovery.”

With a sigh, Lucy’s eyes fell back to the ceiling again.

*

The weeks passed fairly quickly but there was still no news of dad or Vicky. Lucy learned not to pester the doctor with questions about them as he kept repeating the same line about Rosalie coming to collect her and she’d find out in due time. Hopefully they’d be fine and they’d be coming with Rosalie to collect her as a surprise. However Davidson’s words kept echoing in her head; _you were very lucky to have survived_. It made her feel sick every time she repeated it but like a mocking spirit, it followed her everywhere.

Her recovery was speedy, as Davidson commented every day. For all that the old man could be a little annoying, she quickly grew to enjoy his company in the clinic.

Jock Davidson or John if you wanted to be really polite, was a widower; sixty four years young, he said. Most folks just called him Davidson nowadays. His kids had moved away from the village decades ago so his only real point of social interaction was his clinic - the only medical centre in Altnacorrie meaning he had to liaise with the closest hospital, some forty seven miles away. It made Lucy realise how isolated Altnacorrie really was. Davidson was kind enough to go and collect her mobile phone and charger from Rosalie but with disappointment, she realised that her data just didn’t work in the village. To top that off, there no signal at all, as if her mobile just didn’t want to work in the area. It was too far from society, it seemed. Still, her headphones and music player were a comforting escape from the constant ticking of the wall clock.

Davidson would make big batches of food for his dinner and share it with her – everything from homemade breads and broths to chicken stews and fish. _Need to keep your strength up for recovery,_ he’d remind her daily. When she was able to move, she was capable of bathing carefully – Davidson told her just to shout for help if she needed it. _No thanks_. Her ribs were still painful but the hot water soothed her aches. She would switch between her pyjamas and nightdress – Rosalie had sorted out her clothes and toiletries and dropped the important ones off at the clinic while she’d still been unconscious.

Through the weeks, she’d been able to learn a lot about the village from him. Altnacorrie was tiny with a population of about fifty people. He corrected her, telling her that Altna wasn’t actually village at all, but a _clachan_ – a tiny settlement of a church, post office and a school, with some houses scattered here and there. Mostly old folks, he said – the young ones fled the nest as soon as they were able. He told Lucy that there were some kids around her age and dismissed her when she tried to claim that, being eighteen, she wasn’t a kid anymore.

After three weeks of making friends with Davidson, her cast came off and she was able to move around comfortably without any pain from her ribs. A few more days and the neck brace could come off too, Davidson told her. The days passed without event, but Lucy couldn’t help but wonder as she lay in the clinic at night, why Rosalie hadn’t been near her yet. No introduction, no hello, no “how are you?”. It all seemed a little strange but as those thoughts began to creep into her skull, she reminded herself that Rosalie was now eighty years old – leaving the house was probably a trial for the old dear. As long as Davidson was asleep upstairs, just the knowledge that someone who was now familiar was nearby was enough to lull her into slumber. All that talk of demons and haunted villages almost managed to slip her mind until those wee hours of the morning, but being able to hear the doctor snoring through the floors made her feel somehow safe.

*

Finally, the day came when she was given the doctor’s blessings to leave the clinic and go home. _But where was home now?_ She wondered. She already knew she was going to stay with Rosalie but after the Altnacorrie trip, when everything was sorted out and taken care of, when would they be going back? Lucy hadn’t even set foot outside of the clinic doors and her view of the village was already tainted by the unfortunate mess she was in.

She tied her long hair in pigtails and splashed some water on her face before dressing in the clinic’s small bathroom. Rosalie had packed her an outfit to wear on the day she would be leaving – a white tank top with a long sleeved lace top to cover her arms and shoulders, and a short black skirt coupled with patterned tights and canvas shoes. Smart, casual but cute, Lucy smiled. At least the old dear had been able to muster some dress sense.

Around two o’clock, a loud _ding-a-ling_ signified Rosalie had arrived at the clinic – the door creaked shut and she heard Davidson rushing through from the office to the waiting area to greet her. Lucy heard a soft old voice chatting to the doctor but there were no other voices.

No dad? No Vicky?

A sudden pang of anxiety shot up Lucy’s bones – it wasn’t that she was scared of meeting Rosalie, a little nervous of course, but it was finding out where dad and Vicky were. She’d been expecting them to come and greet her too. Maybe they were waiting at Rosalie’s house? A surprise party or something?

Taking deep breaths, she heard footsteps coming up the corridor and then her room door squeaked open. Davidson marched in, chin held high, proud of his work in aiding Lucy’s recovery and behind him, a tall woman with long wispy white hair followed.

Rosalie was not at all like Lucy had imagined – she’d been expecting a small, hag like figure clad in cloaks and tartan, just like they always showed old Highland women on TV. Instead, she was greeted by an obviously elderly woman but with bright eyes, a tall, lanky physique, clad in red tights with a knee length burgundy skirt coupled with a red jumper. Gold bits and bobs adorned her wrists, fingers and necks, and Lucy noticed she was wearing makeup too. Old women wore makeup? There was a certain spring in Rosalie’s kitten-heeled step that made Lucy realise that maybe this old biddy wasn’t going to be as dull as she’d feared.

“Hello, Lucy,” Rosalie smiled as the two came to a halt before her, a warm smile but there was something missing, something wrong, Lucy noticed. She clasped her wrinkled hands in front of her stomach. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Lucy’s stared in the old lady’s blue eyes in surprise.

“I...It’s nice to meet you too, Rosalie.”

“Please. It’s Rosy. Rosalie is too...old fashioned, I fear. Please, take a seat, darling. We need to talk.”

*

No tears streamed from Lucy’s eyes, no cries of anguish, no emotion – just numbness. The shock had shattered her core. It was those horrifying, nightmarish words she’d been so terrified to hear.

“No,” she kept repeating, her voice low and hoarse, “no, no, no, no, no...”

Rosy kept the teenager tight in her embrace as Davidson kept a sympathetic watchful eye over her from the corner of the room.

“Darling, it’s okay,” Rosy choked, her cheeks wet and eyes puffy, “It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. You don’t have to be brave right now. We can get through this together.”

 


End file.
